


Just Say Yes

by enbycupcake



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Domme!Padmé, Illustrated, Light Dom/sub, Multi, Sex Pollen, Sub!Anakin, Trans Anakin, Trans Character, Trans Obi-Wan, Trans Padmé
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 04:11:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10677420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbycupcake/pseuds/enbycupcake
Summary: On a diplomatic mission to a far off planet, Anakin accidentally eats a libido enhancing fruit. He tries to get Padmé to help him out at the dinner table, earning them an unexpected audience.





	Just Say Yes

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my sex pollen/sex fruit idea [here](http://enbycupcake.tumblr.com/post/159651746382/crack-sex-pollen-idea-on-a-diplomatic-mission%22) where Anakin eats some super libido boosting fruit, and Padmé stares Obi-Wan down while she pets her husband. This got written in Anakin’s pov instead of Padmé’s, though, so the taunting Obi-Wan is more implied than shown.

As soon as the fruit hits his tongue, Anakin knows he made a mistake. The fruit isn’t tart like the speckled one he’d been eating, instead saccharine like the cakes Obi-Wan enjoys. Looking down, Anakin is confronted with the temptation fruit both Obi-Wan and Padmé had told him not to eat. 

Bantha shit.

He tries to tune back in to the tale Kyp, this village’s head priest, is telling, but he knows that a battle recounting won’t hold his attention for very long. The temptation fruit is a natural aphrodisiac, brutally effective and passed along lovers like candy here. A group has already left the dinner with handfuls of the fruit, and down at the other end of the table is a couple not so subtly giving each other handjobs. 

Swallowing, Anakin curls his fingers. Heat curls in his belly, and he can feel the beginnings of wetness. The High Chancellor really wasn’t lying about how effective it was. Anakin crosses his legs, squeezing just the slightest. The pressure feels heavenly. 

It isn’t enough. 

Anakin feels like he does an excellent job holding out and not making a spectacle of himself. He makes it through Kyp’s first encounter with glory and well into the second before turning to Padmé. His wife is sitting serenely, her shoulders impeccably straight and her ankles crossed under her skirts as she listens to the priest. The sight shoots a fresh wave of arousal through him; Padmé’s beautiful all the time, but her beauty is heightened when her focus is sharp. Anakin whines in the back of his throat, imagining her attention on him.

The noise pulls Padmé’s gaze to him, only her eyes moving while her face stays still. Anakin bites his lip as she takes in his plate, the discarded temptation fruit lying amongst the rest of his abandoned meal, then the state he’s in, his fists clenched impossibly against the arms of his chair and his legs crossed too tight. Waiting for her to meet his eyes again is torture; Anakin feels like he’s going to die without knowing if she’s upset or disappointed in him or both. 

Padmé is, to his immense surprise, neither. Instead, she looks intrigued. Anakin cautiously relaxes and then tightens his legs to gauge her reaction, doing his best to quiet his low moan the sensations bring. His wife’s eyes narrow and her fingers curl, but she merely goes back to listening to Kyp. Anakin could cry. 

Forcing himself to tune back in, Kyp’s now telling a story about how they met their spouse, Thennen. Thennen is chiming in here and there with corrections and happy commentary. Anakin wishes he could pay better attention because the two of them really are cute like this, but he can hear the pumping of his blood in his ears, can feel how empty he is as he slowly grinds in his chair, can sense Padmé beside him in the Force. She’s less than an arm’s length away from him. All he has to do is _reach out_ –

Biting down hard on his lip, Anakin turns again to look at his wife. Padmé’s smiling at their hosts, but her fingers are still curled. Hopeful, he casts a glance at Obi-Wan. His former master is bored, but he’s giving all his attention to Kyp and Thennen. Satisfied that they won’t be immediately caught, Anakin tries his best to casually rest his arm on Padmé’s chair. 

He runs his gloved fingers over her hand, the simple touch stroking the fire in him. He wants so much more than to merely touch her hand, wants to kiss her and ride her and make love to her. Softly whining, Anakin mets Padmé’s eyes. He knows that in his she can read that he’s desperate for her.

The look he gets has him grinding harder in his seat. Padmé wants him, too; nowhere near the extent he does her at the moment, but her pupils are starting to dilate. Grabbing her hand, Anakin tilts his head towards her. 

“Please,” he mouths, hand tightening and legs recrossing as he tries to stop grinding. He’s getting to the point where he wants to stick a hand between them to ease the desire running through him. 

Padmé shakes her head, mouthing back, “Obi-Wan will notice, Ani.”

“But I need you.”

“You can get off by yourself; the fruit’s clearly visible on your plate.”

Anakin shakes at the denial; his care about Obi-Wan knowing is the last thing on his mind. He and Padmé are here, together, a rare occasion in this climate of war. Even like this, why would he choose to release himself without her? 

“I want you,” he mouths back, desperation spreading like poison in his veins. “Please, Padmé.”

She squeezes his hand after glancing towards Obi-Wan; Anakin doesn’t look at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, thank you, Padmé, oh, thank you so much.” 

Anakin slips and says half of the words out loud. Padmé’s eyebrow lifts at him, but he doesn’t care as he climbs from his seat to settle in her lap. Her arm comes around his back to support him while his hand curls around the back of her head, and Anakin leans down to kiss her. She pulls away from him. 

“I’m still listening to Kyp and Thennen, Ani. Entertain yourself until they finish this story.”

Her statement freezes him. “But– Padmé–”

“Be good for me, and I’ll make the wait worth it. Can you do that for me?”

Pouting, rubbing down slightly on his wife, he answers, “Yes, Padmé.”

“Good, Ani.” She presses a quick kiss to his lips as a reward. “Don’t come without me.”

Nodding, Anakin smiles before pressing his nose against Padmé’s cheek. Her perfume today is barely there and faintly reminds him of flowers, likely one from her home planet instead of Coruscant. Inhaling again, Anakin rubs his nose against his wife’s skin. She smells fantastic. Leaving her cheek for her neck, Anakin curls further against Padmé. 

Being so close to her has his body on fire. The feel of her against him, her hair under his hand, her legs under his, her hand branding him in front of the whole dinner, makes him gasp. The both of them are still fully clothed, but he’s so worked up that the touches feel like they’re on his bare skin and touch sensors. Anakin doesn’t think he could last like Padmé wants him to if he actually directly touched himself. 

Sucking her skin into his mouth, Anakin brings his left hand up to rest on his wife’s stomach. He presses down as he wiggles himself closer to her body, and he starts drawing patterns against the soft material of her dress. He wants to trail it higher, cup one of Padmé’s breasts in his hand, but he restrains himself. Anakin wants to be good for her tonight. Grinding down in her lap to get some relief, he keens against her skin. 

The hand on his back pats him gently. Anakin closes his eyes, soaking the little bit of attention up. He can’t wait until it’s all on him. Trying to determine how much longer he has to stall from relieving himself, he tries his best to tune in to Kyp. Finding their voice is hard in between Padmé’s presence both in the Force and beside him, the high thrum of _need_ in himself, and the little chatter of others closer to them, but Anakin finds it. The words don’t sound like the type of tone Anakin stopped paying heed to, the earlier warmth and affection replaced with pride with Thennen’s deep rumble nowhere to be heard. 

Pulling away slightly, Anakin makes a questioning noise in his throat. Padmé should be playing with him now, surely. He’s immediately shushed. 

“You’ve drawn an audience, Ani.” She continues over him trying to talk. “Obi-Wan included.”

That pulls him up short. Of the two reactions he’d have expected, watching was not one of them. Interrupting to remind Anakin he needs to at least pretend he maintains the Code and be more discreet is reaction one. More likely reaction two is– “He’s not pointedly ignoring us?”

“No. He seemed _very_ interested before I fully looked his way.”

“Interested how?”

Padmé laughs, her voice warming him like a primary sun. “Ani, he wants to fuck you.” 

“No, he doesn’t.” Pushing down the ridiculous hope Padmé’s words bring, Anakin returns to her skin, to making it through the lust brought on by the stupid temptation fruit. He presses messy kisses against her. “Can you please touch me now? I feel as if I’m dying.”

“You can’t die from arousal.”

“ _Please_ , I’ve done what you asked. I’ve been good.”

Padmé presses an awkward kiss to the side of his face. “I suppose you have, haven’t you?”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

“Relax, Ani. I’m going to touch you.”

Settling, relief washing over him, Anakin sighs. He starts sucking a hickey into Padmé’s skin, wondering how he’ll be touched. Will Padmé draw it out or will she immediately give him climax? Knowing either way he’ll be taken care of, that he’s earned it, that he was good enough, Anakin lets himself melt against his wife. He grips her neck tighter, and he slides his hand lower to rest on her hip, fingers digging in for bruises like she likes. 

The soft inhale from Padmé he gets has him keening. Anakin leans back, pulling her with him, to shift his hips. He’s so wet. His leggings are sticky with it, the little circles he’s making spreading it through the cloth material. The messiness of it pulls forth a whine. 

Padmé’s head moves away from him. Confused, Anakin’s fingers scrabble against her, trying to keep her close. He’s _giving her hickeys_. The both of them enjoy them on each other; Anakin doesn’t understand why she’s pulling away from him. 

Before he can protest, Padmé’s free hand slides along the inside of his thigh to where he’s wet. Anakin couldn’t stop the long, relieved moan he lets out if his life depended on it. Her thumb rests on his mound, and the rest of her fingers press against his labia. She runs her fingers against the wet material separating her from him, and Anakin shudders. The sensation is so different with his leggings on. 

“He’s a pretty sight, isn’t he?”

Anakin has no clue who Padmé’s talking to, but the indirect praise and the low hint of possessiveness in her tone make him whine and his dick throb. He forgot they had an audience. 

“I asked you a question, Obi-Wan.”

The high, disbelieving noise Anakin makes is immediately countered with an uncomfortable pinch of Padmé’s fingers. Anakin whimpers at the pain, and he keeps quiet. Obi-Wan surely isn’t looking because he wants Anakin; he’s probably looking at him like he’s a speeder crash, like the disaster of a Jedi that he truly is. 

Obi-Wan’s strangled voice cuts through his negative thoughts. “I suppose he is.”

“You can do better than that.” She sounds every bit of the queen she was all those years ago, regal and demanding while betraying nothing.

“He’s lovely, Padmé.”

Padmé’s fingers press between his lips, the quiet sound of fabric and wetness echoing impossibly in Anakin’s ears. That in combination with Obi-Wan’s admission have him shaking, his fingers gripping tight to his wife. Anakin doesn’t know what to think, his mind confused with his desire and his self loathing and the warmth through his clothes. 

“Padmé?” he asks, voice low so Obi-Wan can’t hear him.

She hums, not turning to face him, but her hand on his back gently beginning to caress him. “Yes, Ani?”

“What– is he telling the truth?”

Her voice quiets just for his ears. “Of course he is. He’s looking at you like you’re the last sweet cake on the platter, and I’ve taken you before he could reach.” A finger slides to rub his dick, causing Anakin to gasp. “He’s trembling, Ani. Can he touch you?”

“He is? You don’t mind?”

Her fingers pinch him again. “I wouldn’t ask if I did. And yes, Ani, he is. Now, answer the question.”

“Please, Padmé.”

Anakin cries out when Padmé rubs over his dick, dragging his leggings over the sensitive flesh. He turns his head, peaking out from his wife’s shoulder and neck to see Obi-Wan for himself. Gasping, Anakin stares. It’s more than what Padmé described. His former master is looking at them – at him – with just as much desperation as Anakin feels coursing through his veins, his fingers tight on the armrests of his chair. His forehead is furrowed, and his eyes are now locking back with Padmé’s. Anakin feels something breaking lose inside him, fear and hope and ever present lust warring within him at what’s going to happen next. 

Padmé’s voice is a tender request when she next speaks. “Do you want to touch him, Obi-Wan? You have both of our permission.”

“ _Yes_.”


End file.
